


Christmas Tree

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Tree, Fluff, M/M, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 10:56:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3065234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John helps Sherlock's family with their Christmas tree (both finding and trimming).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Tree

**Author's Note:**

> For alexisicefire on tumblr

                Sherlock had left a note on John’s bedroom window for him to be at the Holmes’ house at 8:30 on Saturday morning. John wondered what was wrong with him that the person he spent the most time with had an obsession with early morning weekend ‘adventures’.  Especially when that person did asinine things like leave notes on windows demanding your presence. They didn’t even have an active case on this week, John thought sourly. This was all probably just some sort of experiment of Sherlock’s to see if John would come when asked, even without a reason. And John had actually _shown-up_.

                John glared at the Holmes’ front door and hoped that Sherlock would be the one to answer. It would be a shame to waste a perfectly good glare on Sherlock’s unsuspecting family. Actually, Sherlock’s family knew him so they would probably completely understand the glare. There was a possibility that Mycroft would offer to glare at Sherlock with John.

                The front door opened and John blurted out, “Oh my god, what are you wearing?”

                Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John and said, “These are my Christmas tree hunting clothes.”

                John pressed his hands against his eyes because he currently resided in a world where that sentence sort of made sense to him without context. After a moment he dropped his hands and sighed, “What?”

                “These are my Christmas”-

                “Sherlock.”

                “Well I don’t know how I can be any clearer,” said Sherlock defensively. “These are the clothes that I wear when I go Christmas tree hunting.”

                “They are this year’s Christmas tree hunting clothes,” said Mycroft as he walked through the foyer.

                John watched him pass through blankly then looked at Sherlock’s outfit again and sighed. “It’s too early.”

                Sherlock shut the door after John shoved past him and followed him to the living room. He frowned as John made himself comfortable on the sofa. “It’s too early for what?”

                John flopped a hand in Sherlock’s direction and said, “To deal with that green and red assault. Or to question what ‘Christmas tree hunting’ is. Or, really, anything that involves the Holmes.”

                Sherlock smoothed the front of his velvet red jacket and pursed his lips. After a moment he said, “This isn’t so very different from what I normally wear. It’s a bit… more colorful, I’ll grant you that, but it’s hardly the most… um…”

                “Posh.”

                “Posh?”

                “You look like you stepped out of a fashion magazine all the time. Wild and crazy and almost something I would wear. Do you know how bloody annoying it is to date someone who is constantly better dressed than you?”

                There was a short pause then Sherlock said, “No.”

                John threw a pillow at Sherlock and giggled when Sherlock grinned at him. Sherlock was the only person on earth who could incite _giggles_ from John. “Don’t be horrible,” chided John. Sherlock rolled his eyes before sprawling out on the piano bench. John watched, slightly impressed because the bench was clearly uncomfortable to sprawl on. Ordinarily Sherlock used the sofa to be dramatic on but since John was using it, Sherlock had clearly decided to find another way to feed his melodramatic streak.

                John sat up and said, “Okay. Go on then. Tell me what Christmas tree hunting is and why Mycroft knows about it. Since when do you tell him things about the cases?”

                “It’s not for a case, which nicely explains why Mycroft knows,” said Sherlock, even though it really didn’t. John said nothing because he had (mostly) learned to wait until the end of Sherlock’s speeches before speaking. “I would have thought that the idea behind the phrase would be self-explanatory. You aren’t a complete idiot and it is the Christmas season.”

                John propped his chin in his hand as he stared at Sherlock, vexed. Unfortunately Sherlock was too preoccupied with his contemplation of the ceiling to notice the look. Undeterred John said, “I need more information than that.”

                “Oh my god you’re so dull in the mornings,” complained Sherlock. “Every year my family goes hunting for the perfect Christmas tree. – Well, I say tree but what I mean are trees. We put up multiple trees because my parents are insane. I always wear something garishly Christmas inspired to annoy them.”

                “How does that annoy them?”

                “It’s possible that it doesn’t, but why take the risk? I summoned you”-

                “Left a post-it note on my window.”

                -“because I felt you deserved to have this ‘festive outing’ inflicted on you too.”

                Which meant that Sherlock had realised that John’s father would be working overtime. Things were… better financially for the Watson’s but the Christmas season was still hard. It didn’t surprise John that Sherlock was trying to do something nice for him while being a dick about it. John had learned almost immediately that that was the way Sherlock preferred to do nice things. Possibly not healthy, but still sweet in its own way.

                “Don’t you think your parents might not want me coming along on a family trip?”

                “Don’t be silly John,” said Mrs. Holmes cheerfully as she entered the room. “You’re the only one who’ll be able to convince him not to set fire to a tree because he’s curious if a Norway spruce tree burns differently from a Some Other Kind of Tree.”

                “That was _one_ time and I was six!”

                “Oh my god,” said John. He had a horrified vision of a miniature Sherlock dressed in red and green ‘innocently’ setting fire to a tree. In a tree lot. At Christmas time. “You’re the devil.”

                Sherlock finally looked at John again, solemnly, and said, “That makes you a demon.”

                “I am not your minion.”

                “I don’t have minions. I have assistants.”

                John threw another pillow at Sherlock and Mrs. Holmes said, “Enough of that you two. We need to be getting on the road anyway if we’re going to be finished at a reasonable hour.”

                Mrs. Holmes strode out of the room very determinedly and John wondered if she was going to get Mr. Holmes or Mycroft. John turned back to Sherlock, who had stood and was straightening the green cuffs on his jacket, and frowned thoughtfully. “This thing with your family is going to last all day, isn’t it?”

                Sherlock did not make eye contact as he shrugged. “Depends. If we find the perfect Christmas trees early on then no.”

                “Have you ever found the perfect trees early on?”

                Sherlock looked up suddenly, grinned roguishly, and said, “There’s a first time for everything.”

                John supposed he should explain to Sherlock that it was not okay to steal someone’s Saturday, even if it was for Christmas tree hunting. However John didn’t bother because he knew that he was the only one Sherlock would do that to, because John was really the only person Sherlock actively sought out to spend time together. And John didn’t mind it overly much when Sherlock did things like that to John, which was probably at least half the reason they were able to be such good friends.

                On the car trip to the tree lot Mr. and Mrs. Holmes put on Christmas music. Sherlock didn’t argue but he did dramatically groan and hit his head on the window. At first John was amused because he assumed that Christmas brought out the Scrooge in Sherlock. Then Mycroft groaned and Mr. and Mrs. Holmes started singing along to the songs. Terribly. John barely managed to suppress a laugh after the first sour note was sung. John was almost certain that Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were exaggerating their lack of ability for their children’s benefit.

                They drove for ages and ages, leaving the city eventually, and John began to think that there was something Sherlock wasn’t telling him about this trip. He looked at Sherlock suspiciously but Sherlock was too busy hitting his head against the window in time with the music to notice. After watching him for a minute John leaned over and placed his hand on Sherlock’s forehead. Sherlock froze, clearly startled, before he turned to glare at John. John simply gave a shake of his head as a signal to stop, because John didn’t want to listen to Sherlock complain about the red mark that would form on his forehead.

                Finally they drove down a long drive that had evergreen trees of varying sizes lined on either side of it. John looked at them suspiciously because he thought they probably should have been more neatly laid out because this was obviously a place Christmas trees were grown. It looked more like woodlands than an evergreen farm though. Although John admitted he had no idea what an evergreen farm would look like. They pulled up to a refurbished barn and John glanced around for the area where the cut trees were. There wasn’t one.

                After a moment John turned to Sherlock and demanded, “Where are the pre-cut trees?”

                Sherlock looked baffled. He even exchanged a look with Mycroft, which only proved how absurd John’s question seemed to him. “What about my family says ‘pre-cut tree’ to you?”

                That was actually a very good point. Mr. Holmes turned and grinned, “I’m the tree cutter today.”

                John offered him a small smile before glaring at Sherlock, who ignored him. As they got out of the car John complained, “What if I’d had plans tonight?”

                “Then you would’ve asked if we would be finished by a specific time.”

                John rolled his eyes and didn’t deign to respond. There didn’t seem to be much point since Sherlock was, as usual, right. He followed the Holmes family inside the barn where he was overwhelmed by a great deal of wood decorating the barn. The floors, walls, and ceiling were all a dark stained wood with furniture that matched. It felt heavy and burdensome and John wasn’t ever completely sure when he saw furniture and when he didn’t.

                There was an enormous fireplace (obviously an edition) that had a cheerful fire burning in it and warmed the place up. It was made of dark stone, which blended in with the wood, but John still wasn’t sure he approved of a fire burning around all this wood. It seemed like a nice enough place, although there were pine needles everywhere and John had no idea why. There wasn’t a single Christmas tree in the place.

                Mr. and Mrs. Holmes approached the owners, who they apparently knew. The man was rat faced with a beard and was wearing a ridiculously thin, but festive, jumper. He looked underdressed for the cold and John wondered if it was because of the fireplace. The woman was actually pretty but she looked stern and sour and not at all in the Christmas spirit of things, despite her festive jumper. She shot a contemptuous look at Sherlock.

                John watched, resigned, as she nudged the man and they both glared at Sherlock. John asked, “They hate you, don’t they?”

                Sherlock looked startled by the question. He glanced at the people in question then shrugged. “Probably. Most people do.”

                “I don’t,” said John fiercely. Sherlock might be annoying sometimes, but he was brilliant and funny and a whole host of other fantastic things. John hated it when people acted as though he was impossible to like.

                Sherlock smiled indulgently and said, “Yes, well, you are hardly most people.”

                John returned the smile with a small one of his own before regarding the couple again. Then he snorted, “I think it’s hilarious that you said they probably hate you as though there’s no reason for them to feel that way. As though you’ve never set fire to their trees before.”

                Sherlock considered this for a moment before he beamed at him. “Experiment, John. It doesn’t count.”

                The man appeared at their side suddenly. Well, Sherlock didn’t look particularly surprised so most likely John had just missed his approach. John still resented his random appearance. His mouth was pinched tight and his face was scrunched up in disapproval. He said sharply, “We’re not going to have any dangerous “experiments” this year, are we?”

                Sherlock looked offended and John expected him to indignantly insist that he’d been six, instead Sherlock complained, “Last year’s was not dangerous to anyone.”

                “Except yourself.”

                John sighed, “What did you do?”

                “Nothing.”

                “He went to the river and fell through the ice.”

                “Sherlock!”

                Sherlock glared at the man and bit out, “There was more to it than that. I’m not an idiot. I didn’t just fall through the ice.”

                The man looked unimpressed by this pronouncement. He said, “The point is you’re to be on your best behavior for your friend here.”

                Sherlock raised his chin haughtily and said, “I make no promises.”

                “I’ve noticed,” grumbled the man.

                Sherlock dramatically rolled his eyes before he turned away, his coat flapping, and left. John hesitated a moment before he smiled tightly at the man, who pinched his mouth tighter in response, and followed Sherlock. Once they were out of earshot he asked, “How did you fall through the ice and not come out the idiot in that situation?”

                Sherlock gave him that look that said _isn’t it obvious_ so John wasn’t surprised when Sherlock said, “Stop talking or I’ll insist you get paired with Mycroft for the Christmas tree hunt.”

                “Oh. Are we doing pairs?” asked John, ignoring the intended insult. It had been half-hearted at best anyway. “How’s that going to work this year when there are five of us?”

                “Mycroft and I don’t hunt together. We used to get paired when we were younger because my mother had some delusional belief that it was ‘adorable’. I would always sneak away though so they don’t bother with that nonsense anymore.”

                “And your mother’s going to pair you and me together because he has some delusional belief I’ll be able to keep you reasonably safe?”

                Sherlock considered this point before shrugging. “It’s possible. I’m sure if you asked you could get paired with Mycroft.” John scoffed in response.

                Mrs. Holmes gave John and Sherlock a map that was marked off with the area they were supposed to search through. Once they found an appropriate tree they were instructed to mark it on the map and come back to the barn. This was said firmly with a pointed look at Sherlock, who blithely ignored both. John sighed and agreed for him.

                Walking through, what John had deemed, The Christmas Tree Forest Sherlock explained what constituted an appropriate tree for the Holmes family and complained about everything. After fifteen minutes, two of them solid minutes without Sherlock breathing, John asked, “Then why don’t you get out of it? You’re clever enough to figure something out.”

                Sherlock shrugged, “It’s tradition. A ridiculous tradition but one nonetheless.”

                Tradition? As though Sherlock honestly cared about tradition. Sherlock frequently complained about tradition being sentiment and impeding progress. And yet here he was in The Christmas Tree Forest examining trees with more interest than John would have expected. It was ridiculous to John that Sherlock had agreed to participate at all. He knew that Sherlock did things he hated because his family (parents) wanted it of him. But he also knew that Sherlock could very stubbornly not do something simply because he hated it or didn’t see the point. John had fully expected Christmas to fall into one or the other category.

                And then he heard Sherlock quietly humming _I’ll Be Home for Christmas_ and suddenly everything clicked into place. John gasped, “Oh my god. You love Christmas.” Sherlock froze, which was essentially a confession. “That’s why we’re here doing this. You love Christmas. You love looking for trees, and eggnog, and decorating, and”-

                “No,” interrupted Sherlock.

                John ignored him. “Christmas cookies, and caroling, and Christmas carols, and those Christmas specials, and”-

                Sherlock interrupted him again, although this time by pushing him against a nearby tree. It was inordinately uncomfortable and John was fairly certain he injured himself, but then Sherlock’s mouth was on his and John found that he didn’t care. Sometimes Sherlock kissed him quickly and absently, as though he had something else on his mind but couldn’t help himself. John actually like being kissed by Sherlock that way.

                And sometimes, like this time, Sherlock kissed him desperately and intensely, as though he couldn’t quite get enough. John loved being kissed by Sherlock that way. For a while it made up for the fact that he was pushed up against an uncomfortable tree. Still the tree hurt so eventually John tangled his hand in Sherlock’s hair and pulled a bit. This was part punishment and part he knew Sherlock liked it.

                Just as suddenly as he had started the kiss Sherlock ended it and buried his face in John’s neck. John panted and loosened his grip on Sherlock. He wasn’t entirely sure what had spurned that but he was not complaining. After he regained his breath John said, “And mistletoe. Apparently.”

                Sherlock huffed, in what could either have been amusement or annoyance. John shivered as Sherlock’s lips brushed against his neck when he said, “I don’t _love_ Christmas.”

                John smiled and turned his head to kiss the side of Sherlock’s head. “Yes, you do,” said John fondly. Sherlock made another noise but didn’t move away from John. So John asked, “How long have you been waiting to kiss me?”

                “My life has devolved into me perpetually waiting to kiss you.”

                “You could have kissed me earlier,” said John. “I really don’t think they’ll care if we kiss in front of them. They wouldn’t be _upset_.”

                “I know that. They’d probably take pictures or ask when the wedding is or something equally dull.”

                John smiled and nuzzled the side of Sherlock’s head. When they had started dating John hadn’t expected Sherlock to enjoy public displays of affection very much. He had still been surprised by exactly how much Sherlock hated them. When he had first shied away from kissing John or holding John’s hand in front of Sherlock’s family John had asked if Sherlock was ashamed. Sherlock had then treated John to a very long lecture on the perversity of people and how they would intrude on John and Sherlock’s affectionate moments. All of it had amounted to Sherlock not being ashamed, but shy. Since John didn’t really mind either way he had never pressed the issue.

                Another issue that John knew Sherlock had was that he expected the relationship not to last. It seemed ridiculous that someone as clever as Sherlock should view their relationship in such a skewed light. John loved Sherlock fiercely and knew that it was completely returned. However he also knew that Sherlock sometimes wondered how much longer he could fool John into loving him. John had tried arguing with Sherlock to convince him it wasn’t a trick. Sherlock always agreed condescendingly with him, which infuriated John, so he had eventually settled on just showing Sherlock how much he loved him. He hoped that Sherlock would eventually realise there was no trick and John just loved him.

                John kissed Sherlock’s head then said, “This tree is extremely uncomfortable.”

                Sherlock huffed a grumpy sigh against John’s neck before pulling away. “It’s all just transport, John,” said Sherlock dismissively.

                “Oh yeah, right,” said John as he extracted himself. “That’s easy for you to say when you don’t have a branch jabbing you in the back.”

                Sherlock continued to look unimpressed as he watched John wrestle with the tree. Finally he said, dispassionately, “We were hoping to find a tree today.”

                “Shut-up,” grumbled John. “Why don’t we just get this tree, shall we? It’s got lovely memories of us snogging against it and me getting injured. Ow! God damn bloody hell!”

                “It was your eloquence that first made me fall in love.”

                “ _Shut-up_ ,” growled John. Once he was free he grabbed Sherlock and kissed him again, because Sherlock rarely said, even in such a roundabout way, that he loved John. Talking about it was uncomfortable and difficult for him, but showing it was easier. So hearing ‘I love you’ rarely happened for John, which was fine, but he always felt he should reward vocal expressions of affection. Also kissing Sherlock was pretty much John’s favorite thing to do.

                Sherlock pulled away after a moment and said, “Christmas tree, John!”

                “Right. Lead on, then.”

                It was early evening before all of the Christmas trees had been found and cut. Mr. Holmes did cut one down, which John watched with the rest of the Holmes, but the others were taken care of by someone else. A fact that John only realised after Mr. Holmes began discussions with someone to deliver the trees to the Holmes’ house the next day. On the car ride home Mr. and Mrs. Holmes sang off-key again, which John found delightful. Although that was primarily because of Mycroft and Sherlock’s reaction.

                Sherlock groaned and buried his face in John’s shoulder and did not move. He stayed resting against John the whole way home. John didn’t say anything about it because he didn’t want to embarrass Sherlock into moving. Mycroft looked at them with a raised brow but merely rolled his eyes at John’s threatening look. John didn’t really care if Mycroft took him seriously so long as he didn’t say anything to make Sherlock skittish. All in all John decided that it had been a very good day.

 

~~~

 

                John and Mr. Watson were both invited to the Holmes’ house for tree trimming. Mr. Watson had been reluctant to go with John because he didn’t particularly like Sherlock. There had been a misunderstanding that gave Mr. Watson a bad first impression of Sherlock. Sherlock hadn’t exactly helped things by taking offense and acting abrasive. The two had eventually had a ‘private meeting’ where a truce had been reached. That didn’t mean Mr. Watson enjoyed spending time with Sherlock though.

                John thought – hoped – that they just needed to spend more time together. He had decided on the theory that prolonged exposure to each other would cause a less grudging acceptance. At the very least he was proud of them for refraining from murdering the other. It had taken a significant amount of badgering for John to convince Mr. Watson to attend the tree trimming with him. He had only agreed on the condition that he didn’t have to stay the entire time.

                Mrs. Holmes answered the door, which was actually a blessing in John’s opinion, since Sherlock would have probably scowled at Mr. Watson and that would have put him in a foul mood. Mr. Watson followed Mrs. Holmes to the kitchen where she and Mr. Holmes were making eggnog. John wandered into the living room to find Sherlock.

                He stopped short in the doorway to the living room and demanded, “What are you wearing?”

                Sherlock frowned at him and glanced pointedly at John’s clothes. They were perfectly ordinary tree trimming clothes, though. Jeans and a festive jumper. Whereas Sherlock was wearing dark green trousers with a burgundy shirt and a silver, _leather_ waistcoat. John hadn’t even known Sherlock owned a waistcoat, let alone a leather one.

                “My Christmas tree trimming clothes,” he answered with a sniff.

                “This year’s Christmas tree trimming clothes,” corrected Mycroft.

                “Yes, Mycroft we know,” snapped Sherlock. “I am a teenager and I outgrow my clothes. It’s hilarious.”

                “Hilarity had nothing to do with my mentioning it, brother. It’s merely fact.”

                “Why,” interrupted John, “are you wearing that? Why can’t you just wear what you usually wear?”

                “It’s Christmas, John. Besides Mummy said the neighbors can hear me, my outfit is so loud. I’m fairly certain she wants me wearing this.”

                John doubted that Mrs. Holmes wanted Sherlock to wear that outfit. Mrs. Holmes most likely didn’t mind, because he was shamelessly indulgent of Sherlock, but the outfit was… it was just so much. John also thought that Sherlock was perfectly well aware of this so he decided against saying anything in favor of studying the tree. It was completely blank of baubles although there was gold garland wrapped around it. “So this is the tree we’re trimming?”

                “Yes,” said Sherlock, heavily implying the ‘obviously’. “It will be done up in blues and gold and whites. Personally I prefer the kitchen colours.”

                “You have a tree in the kitchen?”

                “Yes. Mummy cooks in there and likes to have it festive. It’s the experimental tree. This year she’s done it in plums and silvers and charcoal.”

                “I don’t suppose you can guess her inspiration,” drawled Mycroft with a significant look at Sherlock.

                “You inspired the cake,” he retorted. To John he explained, “Mummy made two cakes for the tree trimming this year instead of one.”

                John smother a smile at the sour look on Mycroft’s face. It would have been rude and childish to laugh at him, and he did try not to behave that way in regards to the sibling feud. “Yeah. I’m sure it was because of Mycroft that your mum made an extra cake. It had nothing to do with the two extra people you invited.”

                “Good. I’m glad you agree,” said Sherlock cheerfully. John rolled his eyes at Sherlock’s willful ignorance. “It’s not actually Christmas,” he continued flatly as he turned his back towards John. “It’s not time for gifts.”

                “The gift is, however,” said Mycroft, “appropriate to the activity.”

                John sighed because sometimes the two of them together were too much. “Could you two pretend that you aren’t know-it-alls?” Sherlock and Mycroft looked at him with identical expressions of doubt. He grinned at the family resemblance and shook his head. “Never mind. Anyway, it’s not a Christmas present. It’s a… a tree trimming present.”

                Sherlock watched as John revealed a small wrapped package with a purposefully blank face. John knew that he was expecting to hate it, and that Sherlock might actually not care about it, but John also didn’t care. It was just a silly little gift. Sherlock said, “Yes. I’m sure it’s, er, lovely. I just think that you should know that I”-

                “Sherlock. Just open it, yeah?”

                Sherlock reluctantly took the small box and opened it. John could see the determination on Sherlock’s face to pretend that he was pleased by the gift. It was sweet because John knew that he was one of the few Sherlock would pretend for. When the box was finally opened Sherlock stared down at the orb resting on gift wrap. John watched him but Sherlock wasn’t moving. He didn’t seem to know how to react to the navy bauble with Sherlock and John’s name and the year engraved. It was nothing too special but when John had seen the custom baubles he hadn’t been able to resist commissioning one.

                After a minute of silence John said, “I know it’s a little cliché. But I saw someone making custom baubles and I just thought… what the hell.” Sherlock continued to stare at the bauble without moving. “I put the year instead of ‘forever’ because I thought that would have been tacky. This way we can get one every year if we want. Make it a tradition of sorts. I mean, I guess it still is kind of tacky, isn’t it? It is. Listen it’s fine you don’t like it. It was just”-

                Sherlock lurched forward suddenly and engulfed John in a hug. John’s eyes widened in shock and he shot a look a Mycroft, who was staring. John frowned at him because he didn’t want him saying something rude about the display. He rolled his eyes disdainfully, as though he had never said anything purely to goad Sherlock, and turned his attention to the other baubles. Tentatively John reached up to return the hug and said, “Alright?”

                Sherlock nodded against him and sighed heavily. “Yes. I – yes.” Sherlock pulled away, avoiding John’s eye, and said, “Thank you.”

                Sherlock set the box down and hung the bauble front and center on the tree. John grinned to himself and decided that the navy didn’t clash with the other blues laid out. It had been a stroke of luck, apparently, deciding on navy for the colour. Mycroft frowned, “This is not the family tree, Sherlock.”

                Sherlock rolled his eyes but John said, blankly, “You have a family tree?”

                Sherlock and Mycroft exchanged that look again that said John was being dull. Mycroft said, “Yes, of course. In the family room we have a family tree. That room is closed off during our Christmas parties.”

                “Parties? Plural?”

                “Of course,” said Mycroft, sounding genuinely concerned for John’s wellbeing. “One for Mummy’s work, one for Daddy’s work, and one for family and friends. It’s all very tedious.”

                John looked at Sherlock in horror and asked, “How many of these parties am I expected to attend?”

                Sherlock was startled by the question, he frowned and narrowed his eyes warily, and said, “All of them. Obviously.”

                “Why can’t I just, I don’t know, take you out for hot chocolate those nights?”

                “Mummy and Daddy would never allow it,” he answered dismissively.

                Mycroft smirked, vaguely amused by John’s obvious panic. “If it eases your mind at all, Sherlock and I have been trying to convince our parents that the holidays are a lovely time to travel. They won’t listen to us now of course. However we live in hope that by the time we are out of the house they will have been convinced.”

                Sherlock nodded absently. His silence made John realise that Mycroft had no idea how Sherlock felt about Christmas. How one of the most observant people on earth could not know this was beyond John. Sherlock gave him a sideways look and a minuscule shake of his head, as though John would ever give away his secret. Ignoring him John said, “Since we’ve several Christmases left until you two are adults it doesn’t actually offer me much comfort. What would give me comfort is finding out the parties won’t be formal…”

                The pitying look Sherlock gave him was not at all reassuring to John. Before he could answer though Mr. and Mrs. Holmes and Mr. Watson entered. “Oh. You haven’t started yet,” cried Mrs. Holmes. “I was certain we would come back and the tree would be half done by now. We still have this tree and the family tree left to decorate.”

                “How many trees are there exactly?” Mr. Watson asked, swirling his eggnog.

                Mrs. Holmes laughed, “One for every room, I’d say. I gave up counting them all years ago. We go overboard every year I’m afraid. It’s just”-

                “Our favorite holiday,” finished Mr. Holmes. “More eggnog?”

                “Oh that’s quite lovely,” said Mrs. Holmes tapping the sole bauble on the tree.

                Mr. Watson frowned at the bauble. Mycroft said, “It belongs on the family tree.”

                Mrs. Holmes ignored him and said, “The colours are fitting.” She didn’t seem at all concerned about a personal bauble hanging on what was essentially a business tree. At least that’s what it was in John’s mind. She beamed at John and said, “How clever you are, John.”

                “It was luck.”

                “When did you buy that?” Mr. Watson asked.

                John was confused to see that he didn’t look annoyed. Rather he seemed surprised to find out John had been the one to buy it. He shrugged, “The other day. Why?”

                Mr. Watson glanced between him and Sherlock, who was sorting through baubles next to John, before he shook his head and turned away. Sherlock tossed baubles at John, relying on John’s reflexes to catch, for a while before growing bored with tree trimming. He eventually abandoned the cause in favor of lying on the floor, whilst Mycroft sat complaining about… everything. John wasn’t all that surprised Mycroft was the one complaining instead of Sherlock. After all, Sherlock had a secret love of Christmas.

                Mrs. Holmes repeatedly told Mycroft to behave, which he alternately ignored and was offended over. Mr. Watson was obviously annoyed with Sherlock and Mycroft. John found it all a bit funny so he didn’t do anything about it for the longest time. When Mr. Watson started to fidget in his irritation John nudged Sherlock and convinced him to play on his violin.

                He agreed by playing a morbid piece terribly beautifully. Mrs. Holmes allowed it to play to the end before telling Sherlock, with affectionate exasperation, to behave. Sherlock rolled his eyes impressively but switched to something more Christmas friendly. The living room tree didn’t take that long to decorate, even without help from Sherlock or Mycroft, and they moved onto the family room tree. Mycroft still seemed bored by it but Sherlock perked up considerably.

                There wasn’t a theme for the family room tree and all of the baubles were unique. Sherlock took a great deal of pleasure out of showing John the baubles and explaining the stories behind them. John was surprised that Sherlock enjoyed it as much as he did. The stories were all interesting of course, it was the Holmes family, but normally Sherlock regarded such things apathetically. John took this as further evidence of Sherlock’s love of Christmas. John kept waiting for it to dawn on Mycroft that Sherlock loved Christmas, but he remained oblivious.

                Mr. Watson hinted at leaving twice but each time Mrs. Holmes convinced him he needed to stay. Ordinarily John would have taken pity on him and insisted he leave. On tree trimming night he couldn’t bring himself to his rescue. He was having a brilliant time with the Holmes and thought Mr. Watson would too if he could get his head out of his arse.

                After several hours Mycroft finally managed to steal away and Mrs. Holmes dragged Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson away to help with the cake. John sat on the sofa to admire the family Christmas tree. It was something of a mess actually but he thought it suited the Holmes family much better than the other trees he had seen. Sherlock stretched out on the sofa and put his head on John’s lap. John chuckled when Sherlock nudged against his hand like a cat begging to be petted. He ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and grinned when Sherlock hummed contentedly.

                “Are you spending Christmas Eve and Christmas with me?” Sherlock asked suddenly.

                “Maybe I can come by in the afternoon on Christmas for a quick visit. I can’t stay the whole day though because I really should spend it with Dad.”

                Sherlock didn’t argue but John could tell he was disappointed with this answer. He was grateful that Sherlock seemed to accept it though. “What about Christmas Eve?”

                John’s fingers hesitated in Sherlock’s hair and his eyes flew open to study John. Even though he figured Sherlock had deduced the reason behind his hesitation John answered, “We usually visit Mum’s grave on Christmas Eve.”

                “Ah,” said Sherlock absently. His eyes glossed over as he stared up at the ceiling in the way they did when he went into his Mind Palace. John, unoffended, continued to stroke Sherlock’s hair. It was several minutes later that Sherlock asked, tentatively, “Do you want me to go with you?”

                John smiled at him, touched by the offer. He shook his head though and said, “That’s okay. It’s sort of… it’s sort of something Dad and I do. Thanks though for offering. I know you don’t understand the point of it.”

                Sherlock stared up at him, his eyes searching John’s face, and he said, “I’d do anything for you.”

                John smiled, “I know.” He bent as best he could and kissed Sherlock briefly.

                Sherlock sat up abruptly and switched around so that his head was replaced by his feet in John’s lap. John raised his brows at Sherlock because he didn’t think his good nature extended to foot rubs tonight. Sherlock simply said, “Your father hates me, which is another reason I shouldn’t go along.”

                “He doesn’t hate you.”

                “Does.”

                “Sherlock.”

                “I don’t care that he hates me, John. I never expected him to like me in the first place for one reason or another. What baffles me about him is that he hates me because I have money.”

                “That’s not why he’s concerned”-

                “Yes, it is,” he interrupted impatiently. “I don’t know what he expects me to do about it either. Does he think that I’ll give up my money to appease him?”

                “He only worries that you… um, might take advantage of me.”

                “That’s absurd. Why would I take advantage of you? How does he imagine I’d convince you to let me take advantage of you? You’d never let me. You hardly do anything I ask now.”

                “Is that so?” John asked, amused.

                Sherlock ignored him and continued, “Besides having money is one of the best ways I’m able to take care of you. He’s an idiot.”

                John smiled fondly at him whilst Sherlock sulked. Sherlock cared about people so much more than he liked to pretend, but he still cared most for John. It was ridiculous but John liked knowing he was Sherlock’s favorite because Sherlock was definitely John’s favorite. John tugged on Sherlock’s hand and muttered, “Com’ere.”

                After a moment Sherlock adjusted himself on the sofa so that he was practically on John’s lap. They enjoyed a nice snog for several minutes and John felt Sherlock relax. Too soon though Sherlock pulled away, scooting to his corner of the sofa. He smirked at John’s noise of protest but shook his head. John wasn’t that surprised when their parents reentered the room. Sherlock’s hearing was disturbingly good.

                Mrs. Holmes handed out the cake, which Sherlock pecked at and John found delicious. Neither Sherlock nor Mr. Watson said much during dessert, but John didn’t really care. He enjoyed a chat with Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, ignoring the annoyance that radiated off of Sherlock at his betrayal.

                Once the cake was eaten and cleaned up Mr. Watson finally got bold and said, “I think it’s time for me to leave.”

                John jumped out of his seat before anyone else could respond. He said, cheerfully, “I’ll go with you. I just have to run and get my coat.”

                John fetched his coat and nearly ran into Sherlock when he turned. He made a disgruntled noise even as Sherlock kissed him. It was a brief kiss, firm and to the point, and then Sherlock sort of just collapsed onto John. John was baffled by Sherlock’s behavior lately but he held onto Sherlock and rubbed his back soothingly. After a moment he asked, “You’ve been very affectionate lately.”

                “Why do you have to go?” Sherlock asked, ignoring John’s statement.

                “I just thought it would be nice to walk home with Dad.”

                “Why can’t you just stay the night?”

                John snorted, “We’re dating, Sherlock. My dad might accept that we… do things but he’s not going to commend it with a sleepover.”

                “I don’t want sex,” said Sherlock scathingly. Then, after a slight hesitation, he added, “Tonight.”

                John pressed his lips against Sherlock’s temple and asked, “What’s wrong with you? Why’ve you been so love-y?”

                “Because. It’s just…” he trailed off uncertainly then huffed irritably. Finally he spat, “Christmas.”

                John decided that this meant that Sherlock was always more emotional at Christmastime. John had no idea why that would be but he didn’t want to press Sherlock when they had so little time. So he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.”

                “Love you, too,” mumbled Sherlock before he pulled away. He smoothed out his waistcoat and said, “Although your father is irritating.”

                John shrugged and said philosophically, “I seem to attract irritating people.”

                Sherlock gave him a look to let John know he wasn’t funny then Sherlock turned and marched away. John rolled his eyes and followed. The good-byes were surprisingly quick and to the point, with Mycroft condescending to give one too. In almost no time John found himself walking the pavement with his father.

                A good portion of the walk was passed in silence. It didn’t bother John because he and Mr. Watson had always been quiet. He just enjoyed being able to spend time with him and watched the city night scene. It took him a moment to register when Mr. Watson said, abruptly “He actually means a lot to you.”

                John’s brow scrunched as he tried to comprehend what he was talking about. “I – what?”

                “Sherlock. You honestly love him.”

                It wasn’t a question, but he still sounded mystified. John glanced at him quizzically because he had told Mr. Watson how much Sherlock meant to him before this. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

                “I still don’t like him”-

                “And you hide it so well.”

                Mr. Watson gave him an annoyed look and continued, “But… I suppose he’s not… he’s not bad for you.”

                It was hardly a glowing compliment, but it was more than John had gotten thus far. He decided that it was a better Christmas gift than he had hoped for. John beamed at him and agreed, “He’s really not.”

               


End file.
